Happy New Year
by BlueBohemian
Summary: It’s New Years Eve, and what better way to celebrate than with a concert? And, of course, an aftergig party. Meat gets drunk and Khashoggi gets a makeover. Femslash reference.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Characters are not mine, lyrics are not mine, song titles are not mine. You recognise it, it ain't mine.**

Bright white lights panned over the stadium, illuminating a sea of bright, expectant faces. Slowly, they dropped down, reducing their blinding effect on the audience and lit the stage, revealing a drum kit at the centre back, a keyboard to the left and three microphone stands. Slowly, the melodic drumbeat of 'We Will Rock You' began and a spotlight swam over the stage, landing on Meat Loaf, seated behind the kit. As one, the sea of faces raised their arms, clapping and stamping their feet, in time with the beat. In a flash of light, bright enough to light the whole stadium, and an explosion of noise, Big Macca, the Dreamer and his Bad-Arsed Babe ran onto the stage.

_Buddy you're a boy, make a big noise  
__Playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday  
__Yo' got mud on yo' face, you big disgrace,  
__Kicking your can all over the place_

_We will, we will rock you_

'Everybody!' Scaramouche screamed at the audience. They needed no further encouragement and began their chant with renewed vigour.

The song finished with a thunderous clap, from both the audience and performers, and Galileo addressed the audience, 'Hello Wembley!' A cheer of greeting responded loudly, enthusiastically. 'So, we were planning our New Years Celebrations, and the thought came to us, than what better way to see in a new year, and a new era, than with all of you! This will be the first New Years Eve in two hundred and sixty six years with _real_ instruments, and _real, live_ music!' a second cheer erupted, drowning out his next words. He laughed, and repeated his words, 'And I couldn't have done it without my chick, my very own bad-arsed babe, Scaramouche!' Scaramouche glared at him, but let the words slide, figuring that they could battle it out later; onstage mid-concert didn't really strike her as the best location for an argument. They played a medley of their most famous songs, interjected by light banter; I Want It All, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Under Pressure, Tie Your Mother Down, I Want To Break Free, Friends Will Be Friends, Now I'm Here, A Kind of Magic, and The Show Must Go On. Killer Queen and Radio GaGa were conspicuously absent. Scaramouche belted out Somebody To Love, resulting in a somewhat prolonged kiss from Galileo, to the delight of the watching crowd.

Half way through the concert, Pop walked onstage and announced that as the Bar Man, it was his duty to provide refreshments; Galileo was offered a pint, and Scaramouche a white wine fruit laced drink. With a look of disgust, Scaramouche took the pint, and took a long draught, much to the amusement of onlookers, while Galileo sipped the wine. Together with Meat and Big Macca, they left the stage, and convinced that it was, indeed, necessary, Pop sang a capella to _These Are The Days of Our Lives_. In an attempt to remove the saddened atmosphere, Galileo and Scaramouche returned and proceeded to turn Hammer To Fall into a 'Boys v Girls' sing off, loudly received by all.

Shortly before the end of the concert, Galileo beckoned Meat Loaf to the front of the stage. 'Not many of you will know that in the course of the reinstatement of rock, one of our number was lost. Britney Spears was a great and inspiring man; he never stopped believing that we would be saved, and that I was the man to do it.' He paused, 'He was a true Bohemian; a fighter, a survivor, and he gave his life for the cause. And we'll remember him.'

Meat Loaf hovered behind him, in a trance of remembrance. He handed her the mic, and a hushed silence fell on the stadium. Fulfilling his role as groupie, Pop passed Scaramouche a newly made acoustic guitar, and she perched on a high stool, toes resting on the bar. The individual notes echoed mournfully around the stadium, a backdrop to the lone voice of Meat Loaf; she was holding it herself together well, her voice strong and clear.

'_Hell_,' she screamed, 'you made a sensation! Oh, you found a way through!' A single tear trickled down her cheek; the first that had fallen in the months since a funeral for Brit had been held. She ignored it, and carried on, softly supported in the choruses by Galileo, Scaramouche, Big Macca and Pop, crescendoing as she reached the line, 'There's a face at the window, and I ain't never, _never_ saying goodbye.' A second, perfectly formed tear rolled down her cheek, streaking her black eyeliner. She finished the song, somehow singing the final lines out louder than the rest, and after a moments stunned silence, was met by rapturous, deafening applause.

Supported by touches from Galileo and Scaramouche, Meat returned to her position behind the drums and began the familiar, reassuring beat of _Bohemian Rhapsody_. 'Mama, just killed a man,' Galileo crooned into the mic. The audience waved their arms in time with Galileo, singing with him. The sound was unlike any ever heard, even at Wembley on the day of the Rhapsody. '_Any way the wind blows_', the noise was electric; a thousand voices combined as one, a moment defining history.

A screen bearing a timer, counting down the final minutes, then seconds to midnight descended above the stage. 'Ten! Nine!' The stadium counted down the seconds together, caught in a moment. 'Six! Five!' Scaramouche joined the assembled group of Bohemians at the front of the stage, cradling the guitar in her arms, her head resting on Galileo's shoulder, his arm around her waist. The crowd cheered and continued the countdown. 'Two! One!'

'Happy New Year!' An electric scream reverberated around the stadium, as hugs and kisses were exchanged between friends old and new.

A moment later, silence fell again, as Galileo spoke, 'We love you guys,' he shouted out to the audience, 'and we hope you enjoyed the show. It's been one hell of a year, and the journey will go on. We've rocked you out of 2312, and we're gonna start 2313 the way we're gonna go on!'

Scaramouche strummed softly, as Meat and Big Macca resumed their positions. Galileo sang softly, 'I've paid my dues, time after time.' The audience sang with him, resuming their wave, ''Cause we are the champions, of the _world._' And in that moment, they were. They'd achieved the impossible, and life had changed, unanimously agreed to be for the better.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Characters, lyrics, quotes and anything you recognise still isn't mine. Damn.**

The crowd had long since dispersed, instruments removed, and only mess remained. Meat had loudly declared that the first night of a new year was meant to be a celebration, and she was damned if she was going to spend it cleaning, and that therefore, they would have a 'proper' party. Refusing to take no for an answer, not that anyone dared refuse, she ushered them all backstage, where she had previously set many of the Bohemians amassing vast quantities of drink and snacks. Where it had all come from, no one dared ask.

Khashoggi slunk between various groups, refilling glasses, and carrying trays of food, alternating between assisting Pop behind the bar, and making sure the drink flowed all night. From deep in conversation with Galileo and Scaramouche, Meat Loaf spotted the familiar grey suit. _Why,_ she wondered, _in the name of all that's Bohemian, did he not let me give him a makeover?_ She beckoned him, the bright pink nail varnish on her fingers chipped. 'Ali!' she called loudly, 'C'm 'ere, will yeh?' He didn't dare refuse, and walked over, ignoring the inquisitive glances and obvious stares of other Bohemians.

'Miss Loaf.'

Galileo and Scaramouche regarded the unfolding scene with interest; Meat Loaf had been in their company for most of the evening, and in that time had proceeded to knock back at least four double vodkas with coke, and rock knew what else. Khashoggi, on the other hand, was clearly stone cold sober. 'Ya need to light'n up, Commander,' she slurred lightly, her bright green eyes focused solely on him, an expression midway between amusement and confusion on her face. 'Yeh need a _drink_,' she declared, carefully enunciating the last word. 'And yeh need to let me give you a makeover. Yeh're a Bohemian now. An' Ah got jus' th' thing fer yeh. Wai' there!'

She ran off in the direction of the communal wardrobe. Khashoggi groaned, experiencing fear for once in his life, 'Dreamer… Help me.'

Galileo laughed, 'No can do, mate. It would be good for you, anyway.'

'It might be an M&S suit, but it isn't very rock and roll,' Scaramouche interjected pointedly, suppressing a smirk.

Meat Loaf returned; she evidently hadn't had to look far to find Khashoggi's new clothes. Dumping them in his arms, she turned to Scaramouche, 'An Ah got somethin' fer yeh too, hen. Have Ah ever introduced yeh to me friend-'

'What friend?' Scaramouche asked suspiciously, unsure as to whether or not this friend would be particularly agreeable to her.

'Oh, she's a little dazzler,' Meat explained, 'goes by the name of Malibu.' She held out the half-drunk bottle, 'Try some.' Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, 'Oh, don'a be a party-pooper,' Meat chided, taking Scaramouche's glass, draining the contents and refilling it with Malibu, 'Yeh got any coke or lemonade? Just somethin' t' mix it with.'

Scaramouche nodded slowly and took the glass, sniffing it carefully, 'I'll get some,' she agreed, deciding that for once, Meat could get her own way. Meat had been overly liberal in her dose of Malibu, and at the bar she tipped half of it away and called for Pop to fill the glass up with coke. She sipped it carefully, and had to give credit to Meat; it was actually quite nice. She returned to the others, refusing offers to dance, and arrived mid row between Meat and Khashoggi.

'Pop,' she told Galileo, 'is somewhat…' she paused, searching for the right word, 'severely inebriated. He asked me to do the fandango, and said he _did_ want to get into my pants. What's going on with them?' she asked, observing the row with amusement.

Meat thought leather trousers and ripped up tshirt would work,' Galileo explained, 'but he won't wear them. I told him he ought to at least humour her.' Meat Loaf was plainly drunk and intervening in her plans for the evening was highly likely to make her exceedingly emotional; something they weren't prepared to deal with at the present moment.

'Khashoggi,' Scaramouche whispered conspiratorially to him, 'I'd do what she's asking. You can change back before the night's out.'

'Very well,' the Commander nodded, finally having realised there was no way out of the current situation, other than to wear the clothes. 'Okay,' he put a finger to Meat Loaf's lips, 'I'll wear them. Just promise not to laugh.' Meat agreed readily, glad she was getting her own way.

While they waited for Khashoggi to return, Meat Loaf drank yet more vodka, and insisted Scaramouche danced with her. A 'dance' was perhaps the wrong description; feet were shuffled and Scaramouche supported Meat, who had her arms draped over Scaramouche's shoulders to prevent her from falling over. Abruptly, Meat cocked her head to one side, a strange expression on her face, 'Hen, Ah really love yeh. Ah know Ah don' say it much, bu' Ah really do. Yeh my best friend in this place, an' Ah know Ah can count on yeh t'always be there fer me.'

'Aw, thanks Meat,' Scaramouche said, realising Meat had reached the confessional stage of drunkenness, and it would only take one wrong comment to turn her to an emotional drunk, rather than the happy, all singing, all dancing drunk that was usual. 'I love you too.'

Meat's eyes lit up, her whole face visibly more cheerful, 'Really?'

Scaramouche nodded, 'Yeah. Why would I lie?'

Meat pondered this for a moment, and then kissed Scaramouche fully on the lips. It was at that point that Khashoggi chose to return, and found Galileo watching the two girls, mouth agape. Khashoggi's eyebrow rose. 'Do you think we ought to say something,' he asked, once he had regained the power of speech. Still lost for words, Galileo merely nodded.

Khashoggi approached the two and coughed, once, quietly. Scaramouche both saw and heard him, and made a mental note to thank him for her rescue later. She pulled back, forcing Meat to release her from her hold, bringing Khashoggi into Meat's line of view. Meat toppled sideways, unbalanced by Scaramouche's sudden movement, instinctively, Khashoggi put his arms out to catch her, reasoning that it was his duty as the nearest, soberest person; after that display, Scaramouche, he believed, was rather more than three sheets to the wind. He would have done it for anyone, and he also knew if would be far worse for all concerned, had Meat fallen over.

Meat lay, giggling in his arms, then stopped suddenly, looking at him as though properly seeing him for the first time. 'Shoggsy,' she giggled again, 'Shoggsy Shaggsy, you look _good_ Bohemian. Leather trousers suit you.' She struggled to right herself, forcing Khashoggi to support her in a standing position. She looked him up and down appraisingly; then smiled at him.

'Commander Khashoggi,' she said daintily, 'Scaramouche was rubbish.' Scaramouche went pink and looked vaguely offended. Galileo laughed nervously. Meat continued in the same dainty tone, ' And I want you Khashoggi, and I want you now.' He could smell the vodka fumes, mingled with cigarette smoke, and a musky, sultry scent, unique to her. In her delicate Scottish slur, she proceeded to describe exactly what she wanted him to do to her, and everything she would do to him in return. The language was colourfully pornographic, and in tense anticipation, onlookers waited to see how Khashoggi would react. Khashoggi blinked, and his eyebrow rose. 'I have chosen you, Alistair Amadeus Khashoggi,' Meat continued, blithely unaware of the looks she was attracting, and with the air of one distributing a prize, 'to be the one to make me orgasm.' The eyebrow that had once held the power to decide a man's fate rose still higher.

As soon as Meat's attention had turned from Scaramouche to Khashoggi, Galileo had claimed his girlfriend, his arm tightly around her waist, should anyone else decide to try their luck with her. Scaramouche's delivery of Pop's quote reverberated around his mind. Taking the chance that none of the Bohemians would be foolhardy enough to take Scaramouche while she was standing beside him, Galileo lent forward to Khashoggi, 'Dude, she's middle naming you. I wouldn't argue,' he advised. Khashoggi's earlier look of terror paled in significance to the one that now obscured his face. Khashoggi drained his glass, and that of the Bohemian standing next to him, gulped and allowed Meat to lead him away through the cheering crowd. Wolf whistles, and shouts of encouragement were thrown in the direction of the retreating couple.

His claim to Scaramouche thoroughly re-staked, Galileo turned to her, clearly amused, 'How was it?'

Scaramouche blushed crimson, 'Not a patch on you. Shagileo Gigolo.' She took the drink Galileo offered her, winced, and downed it.

'Well,' he said slowly, making a show of deliberating the possibilities, 'if you can't beat 'em Skirmisher,' he kissed her softly and winked, 'join 'em.'


End file.
